


The Only Child of an Only Child

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy is surprised by just how rough a music festival can be. Luckily he gets rescued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Child of an Only Child

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note** : Written for the sceasleycest 'Brutish Pack of Weasleys' challenge.  
>  **Disclaimer** : Obviously I didn't invent these characters.

The light clink of silverware on bone china echoed through the quiet, marble room. Three pairs of hands deftly performed the graceful dance of impeccable table manners. Conversation was civilised and carried on in muted tones.

“Father, Mother,” Scorpius addressed his dining companions, “I understand that there are still tickets available for the Whitby Warlock Weekend. May I attend?”

“A Music festival?” asked Astoria doubtfully.

“A lot of young witches and wizards from perfectly respectable families go there and I am quite keen to see _Arctic Fire_. _Clarence and the Latrine_ are playing, and _The Wyrd Sisters_ and -”

Draco butted in enthusiastically: “The original line-up?” His eyes misted over. “I saw the _Wyrd Sisters_ play once. At a school Ball. Then Pansy and I went -”

“Auntie Pansy?”

Draco remembered who he was talking to and abruptly stopped reminiscing. “The point is,” he said firmly, “that if you have a chance to see them live, then you must take it!”

In the end, Scorpius skipped most of _The Wyrd Sisters_ ' set. It was old people music and he wanted to get to the other stage early to secure a place near the front for the _Arctic Fire_ performance. For over an hour, festival-goers trooped in behind him, squelching through the mud. He recognised most of them because they were near to his age and the British wizarding community was not a big one.

The band came on stage and Scorpius found it difficult to breathe as he stared up at his idols picking up their instruments. The drums rolled, then a guitar was strummed. It really was rather noisy. Scorpius realised that he was standing directly in front of a huge speaker. Then the singer took his place at the mic. Scorpius was jostled from behind, but chose to ignore it.

The first song was a fast one with searingly beautiful lyrics and he knew it off by heart. It had sounded clearer on the recording. Someone landed on him and he fell against the speaker, scratching his shoulder. He struggled upright just in time for a flailing arm to land on his cheek. A distorted saxophone shriek assaulted his eardrum as he turned to see what was going on.

There was a blur of bodies, most of them much bigger than his. A lot of them seemed to be ginger-haired. Well, they hadn't been behind him before so they must have pushed in. They were dancing wildly, apparently not minding if they bumped into each other. On second thoughts, he realised as a knee made contact with his hip, they actually seemed to be knocking each other on purpose.

Having lost his footing, he found himself sucked into the middle of the violent mass. He recognised some of them as members of what he and his friends had called the 'Gryffindor Mafia' when they were at school. There were Rose and Lucy Weasley whipping their hair around, Louis Weasley, Albus Potter and Quintus Jordan (not actually a Weasley cousin, but as good as) with their jabbing elbows at face height, Freddy Weasley was ramming someone Scorpius didn't recognise but who looked freckly, ginger and old enough to know better.

In the centre of the crowd were two tall middle-aged men pogo-ing up and down – one stocky and tattooed, the other scarred with a long red and grey ponytail. Every time they landed the ground shuddered. Scorpius scrabbled to an upright position and, in a blind panic, began shoving his way back to the front.

His hand made contact with the warm skin of someone's neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, but there was no point, it was too noisy.

The owner of the neck turned round. Roxanne Weasley. She grinned when she recognised him, then headbutted him. He heard a crunching sound. Warm pain spread out from the centre of his face. He let his knees give way.

There was a tightness at his throat, then his feet were kicking the air. He struggled, briefly. He was deafened when his head smacked against the speaker. The edge of the wood scraped his ribcage as he was dragged onto the top of it and he lay still, panting.

It was quieter up here. The noise must be blasting out forwards. It was nice not to be being hurt. He recognised the chorus of one of his favourite tracks.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he swore. Then he turned his head.

The boy beside him was giving him a concerned look. Unfortunately it was a look adorning a freckled, pale face surrounded by a halo of bushy orange hair. He thought he vaguely recognised it as belonging to a Gryffindor a couple of years behind him, one of the youngest of the clan, somebody's brother.

“Ok?”

Scorpius had to lip-read. He shrugged in reply as best he could. Then the boy said something else but it was too long and complicated. He leaned in, put his mouth right next to Scorpius' ear and asked, “Where does it hurt?”

He moved back and pulled his wand out of his sleeve, waved it in a 'healing' pattern to indicate what he was offering to do. Carefully, Scorpius heaved himself to a sitting position, his legs dangling over the front of the speaker. The speaker vibrated under him. It was a pleasant sensation, actually.

He pointed to his nose, the wand passed over it and he felt a lot better, the wooziness stopped as well as the pain. Then he indicated his chest, his hip, his legs. When they all felt better, he realised that his upper arm was bruised, too.

The boy cupped his hands round his own mouth and brought it back to Scorpius' ear. “They're a bit rough, aren't they?” he shouted.

Scorpius nodded and the two of them looked down into the vibrating crowd.

“They're always like that,” the boy added, getting just a little too close, his tongue briefly brushing Scorpius' lobe. “Bit much for me, too.”

One of the wildly dancing men looked up and spotted them. He beckoned for the Weasley to come down.

“That's my Dad.” The young man gave the universal face-pull for 'my parents are so embarrassing!' Scorpius gave him a sympathetic grin.

They turned round to the stage and watched the band. It was a great view. Scorpius was pleased to see that his companion knew the lyrics as well as he did, both of them mouthing them, not drowning out the vocalist by yelling as some of the audience members below them did. When the set ended, they clapped and shouted enthusiastically.

“They are brilliant.” Scorpius said as the noise level dropped.

“Genius.”

The two of them sat in reverential silence for a while, their elevated position enabling them to watch their idols swigging water and unplugging instruments at the side of the stage.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” Scorpius said.

“No bother. What's your name?”

“Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy.”

“Think I've heard of you. Nobody told me how – never mind. I'm Hugo. Hugo Weasley obviously.”

“Rose was in my year.”

“She's as bad as the rest of them. Big family get-togethers are unbearable. Pushing and shouting -” he was cut short by a yawn.

“Where's your tent, Hugo? I'll walk you back. Looks like you could do with some sleep.”

“No point. I'm sharing with that lot.” He indicated the churned mud below them. Everyone else had gone, but they both knew who he meant.

“All of them?” Scorpius was horrified.

“Yeah. Haven't slept since we got here.”

Scorpius thought for a moment. He thought about slipping off onto the mud and checking out the mellow Jazz tent where he'd gone the night before. He thought about getting a lentil burger from the van, or a glass of wine from the bar. He thought about the quiet, clean little teepee waiting for him in the next field.

“I'm here on my own,” he said. “It's quite peaceful. I don't suppose you'd like to share my tent?”

Hugo looked at him sharply then, looked into his face.

“I'm not making a pass or anything,” Scorpius spluttered. “I just thought it might be -”

But Hugo looked disappointed. More than that, crest-fallen. He swiftly tried to hide it.

“I can if you like, though,” Scorpius amended.

Hugo's eyes sparkled as they made contact.

They both looked around them nervously. It was dark now, fairy lights twinkling in the distance, but no other people near the second stage. Scorpius placed a gentle palm on the other boy's knee.

“Are you making a pass now?” Hugo asked breathlessly.

“Not yet.” Scorpius pressed a light kiss to the edge of Hugo's lower lip. “Now I am.”


End file.
